Newfoundland, chapter 4

Road Trip to Newfoundland

Day 4 - North Along the Strait of Belle Isle

I awoke in our comfortable, yet economical motel with the distinct and happy knowledge that I was in Newfoundland. I had not been here since 1988 when I worked as a mining geologist searching for copper and gold along the south coast and interior. I loved it then and I would love it now. The pace is slow and the people friendly. The land is clean and natural, and very beautiful. I wanted to relax yet wanted to get going and explore the province. Today was a long haul up to the northern tip where Vikings settled a thousand years ago. I had never been there, but could imagine it was much like the coast of Labrador where I had spent a few months long ago. The stories of my time in Labrador deserve an entire blog or novel.

We bade adieu to the tiny motel and the blunt mountain behind it as we stormed down the highway toward Pasadena, a small town along the shore of Deer Lake. Our first destination was the beach, only an hour away. When we arrived, circuitously through tiny backstreets, the beach was deserted. To be fair, it was a weekday, early, and a bit cool. The natural beauty was obvious though, and worth appreciation. We did not stay and swim. We pushed on. Arriving at the town of Deer Lake, we stopped at Mary Brown's to get a bucket of chicken for lunch en route. We would travel north through Gros Morne National Park, then along the coast. There was no time nor need to stop at Gros Morne. That would be the destination after visiting the Viking territory. I did want to stop at "The Arches", a provincial park along the coast where rock formations with caves stand in the tidal shore.

We explored the caves and marveled at the unspoiled, clean rocky beach, testing the water for salinity and skipping stones out into the Strait of Belle Isle toward Labrador. The area was fairly flat here and too far from Labrador to see mainland, but what struck me was the clarity of the water against the flat rocks and round boulders. This is a kid's dreamscape filled with tiny natural treasures to explore, steeped in the rich aroma of north Atlantic seaweed. We lingered up at the roadside, eating Mary Brown's chicken and fries.

We continued along the coast passing tiny fishing villages and caches of lobster traps. The endless highway was lined with an uninterrupted forest tightly bound by spruce trees. Before and after Bard's Harbour, the highway veered inland by some impressive tabletop mountains, but it wasn't until Savage cove that we fathomed the depth of our view. We stopped to gaze at the coast of Labrador, a short 20 km across the Strait. If we had time, I would have taken us there on the ferry. That will have to wait for another trip.

Further down the highway we arrived at Saint Lunaire-Griquet, the small fishing town that held our pretty, pleasant motel called The St. Brendan. I met a couple and their son staying there too. Clearly the man wanted to talk. He struck up a conversation and we stood outside by his truck for an hour discussing life. He and his wife were displaced Newfoundlanders come back for a visit after decades away. Like many in Newfoundland, they struck out to find opportunities in the rest of the country. He did well for himself in the construction business. But like most Newfoundlanders, the island remains dear to the heart.

The clean, hospitable room beckoned us to stay, but I had planned dinner at the Lightkeeper's restaurant, set out on a high point at the edge of St. Anthony, about 20 km away. When we arrived, we secured a table. I noticed several people outside looking out to sea. I decided to check it out. To my surprise and excitement, people were watching humpback whales jumping and feeding. I remember excitedly rushing back to the restaurant to tell my wife and kids. We all gathered outside and watched. Although far away, it was still a magnificent sight.

Dinner done and whales moved on, we drove back to our motel. My wife was eager to catch up on email but the rest of us wanted the adventure to continue. We went down to the local wharf where fishermen extended their day's work by offloading fish from boats. The kids and I suited up the rods with glittery lures and began casting into the dull green waters. Before long a collection of smaller fish danced around below us, eager to see what the shiny metal was all about. We caught one fish, a small reddish brown thing that resembled a cod. A local man told us it was a rock cod. I assume this is like a rock bass, a small, feisty version. We caught a few, kept none, but were happy to experience the thrill of the chase. As dark set in, we packed up the gear. Evening was quiet. We talked about all the great sights we had seen that day.

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